


In a Field of Red Flowers

by hotdadicus



Category: Fortnite (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, mentions sleuth, two bros chillin behind the agency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 12:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17808098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotdadicus/pseuds/hotdadicus
Summary: Gumshoe and Noir share a cigarette behind the detective agency.





	In a Field of Red Flowers

“Do you ever worry about the people here?”

He studies the ring of red lipstick around the cigarette for a moment before taking a long drag. “Why should I? It isn’t part of my job description.”

Noir is seven years her senior; five years her boss-turned-cohort. However indifferent he is, opting to hide in the shadows like a feral cat pawing around a still corpse, she knows he has a good head on his shoulders. Emotions should not interfere with work - _their_ line of work. God forbid Gumshoe mourn the loss of another innocent civilian for one minute, or she’ll find a sniper bullet lodged in her skull.

“I know.” She takes the cigarette back. “But surely you’ve begun noticing the increasing number of missing person cases; linking them back to the schedule of the tournaments.”

“Of course. It’s difficult to distinguish taboo fantasies from reality. They’re desensitized.” Noir glances aloft, but she only sees the moonlight’s reflection in his sunglasses. “No one said this job was going to be easy, Hon. No one wants to do it. Hell, I hate watching women cry across the desk; it isn’t going to get their children back.”

Gumshoe swallows.

Noir watches two rabbits giggle and scamper over the hill, pink and blue respectively. “You know where I first met Sleuth? In a field of red flowers. I thought he was dead. His nose was crooked.” He leans back against a radiator pipe. “Someone had beat him in broad daylight and left him to die.” He pauses. “I think that’s why he’s so - passionate about his job. His emotions overcome him too often. I get it. I’d be pissed if someone tried to kill me.”

She’s noticed it as well; the juxtaposition between Sleuth and Noir is as obvious as the dichotomy between day and night. Everyone bursts through the agency’s front door and immediately flocks to Sleuth’s aid; the glimmer of hope in his eye and the confidence in his tone ( “we’re on the case, ma’am!” ) is far more attractive than Noir’s aloof approach - or lack thereof. Gumshoe begins to wonder why Noir willingly chose this life, but suddenly he’s crushing the cigarette bud beneath his heel.

“Don’t worry about it.” It’s as if he’s reading her mind. “We’re fine. We just need to keep up our work.”


End file.
